


About Today

by jacksgirl217



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: CLC, Cleon, Cloud Strife - Freeform, Cloud/Leon - Freeform, Leon Leonhart, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksgirl217/pseuds/jacksgirl217
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The youngest son of an alcoholic former prize fighter returns home, where he's trained for competition in a legendary tournament - a path that puts him on a collision course with his older foster brother, Leon; a ghost he had hoped never to see again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Runaway

A/N:.  
The plot is based off a film I saw and if you can guess which one I’ll shower you with cookies and feels. I won’t say which one for now, but as this story goes on; it will become more and more obvious. I’ve made some changes here and there but the basic idea is still the same.

I hope you enjoy this, I’m not the best at multi chapter fics, but I’m rather excited about this so I’m going to give it a bloody good go!

The title of this story and the title of the chapter are by The National.

I hope you guys enjoy this.

Much love and happy reading. xxx

About Today.

There's no saving anything  
Now we're swallowing the shine of the summer  
There's no saving anything  
How we swallow the sun

But I won't be no runaway  
Cause I won't run  
No I won’t be no runaway  
What makes you think I'm enjoying being led to the flood?

We got another thing coming undone  
And it’s taking us over  
We don't bleed when we don't fight  
Go ahead, go ahead

Throw your arms in the air tonight  
We don't bleed when we don't fight  
Go ahead, go ahead  
Lose our shirts in the fire tonight

What makes you think I'm enjoying being led to the flood?  
We got another thing coming undone

But I won't be no runaway  
Cause I won’t run  
No I won't be no runaway  
Cause I won't run

\- Runaway- The National - 

 

Runaway. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Leon asked darkly as he ascended the last flight of stairs. He fished his keys out of his jacket pocket as he made to step around the older, gruff looking man stood in front of his apartment, looking like he had been there all day. The old man said nothing; chewing instead on the dog end of a half-finished cigar, he levelled Leon with a steely glare that the Gunblader would have been proud of.

After a few more moments of awkward silence, Leon shook his wet bangs from his face and sighed deeply.  
“Look Cid, tell me what the fuck you want or get out. I’m not in the mood.” The raging storm outside seemed to agree with Leon as another clap of thunder sounded, making the stairwell light up and flash ominous shadows.

Cid folded his arms, taking another long appraising look at the young man he hadn’t seen in well over eight years, before he finally took the chewed up cigar from his mouth. “Just came to tell ya; he’s back.” Cid’s voice was dark and deep, scratched and gravely from years of smoking and drinking; a legacy that Leon knew about all too well. Cid and Leon’s foster father… they had been friends.

For a moment Leon was confused. He hadn’t seen Cid since he was seventeen, back then Leon had been Squall, a whole lot younger and a whole lot stupider. Leon hadn’t seen anyone from his old life since that day. He had to take a moment to recall who Cid could have possibly meant.

“Cloud.” Cid confirmed for him.

For a split second, Leon was overcome with memories. Flashes of a childhood spent together with his foster brother flittered across his mind’s eye all blurred into one distinct emotion: pain.

Thinking about Cloud caused him terrible, heart crushing pain. It was the main reason he hadn’t thought about Cloud in a very very long time; the man’s name filed under the same category as his bastard of a foster father. Warning, do not open! The very last time he had thought or even heard about his younger sibling was the day Cloud went off to be a SOLDIER. A postcard with nothing but a forwarding address and a name had come for Leon in the post, a just-in-case, should Leon ever feel like contacting the younger man. Leon snorted at the memory.

“Why the fuck would I care if he’s back or not?” Leon snarled lowly, stepping up to his front door and all but pushing Cid out of his way. The older man stepped back, fists curling but remaining by his sides.

“He went missing, Squall.”

The Gunblader looked over his shoulder, distain on his handsome features. “It’s Leon.” He snapped. “besides, like I said, why the fuck should I care? He went missing, now he’s back. Big whoop.” He had unlocked his apartment and was just about to step in side, slamming the door on a thoroughly shitty day when Cid replied.

“He would see you,” Leon stopped, half in and half out of his home. “If you would agree?” Cid offered this last morsel of hope.  
Leon considered it. He was a mad, crazy, masochistic bastard, but he considered it. And then, almost as quickly, he rejected it.  
“He’s known for years where I am, this doesn’t change anything.” Leon replied, his voice sounding hollow and defeated and not at all like he wanted it to. “I left all that behind years ago and I’m never going back.” He ended, finally stepping over the threshold of his home and closing the door on the ghost from his past.

Cid merely shook his head and began the long journey home to Twilight Town.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Being inside his home didn’t change Leon’s mood any. He felt neither safer, nor more relaxed as he shrugged off his soaking jacket and boots, hating how his socks had been saturated and the hem of his trousers stuck to his legs as he trudged through his apartment to his bedroom.

“Yuffie?” he called out as he passed, not really expecting an answer. If Yuffie had been home, Leon wouldn’t have found Cid sat outside.

For a street kid, Leon mused, Yuffie was incredibly trusting and naive. It had only just been three years since Leon had found the young girl in the back alley of his building, scrabbling around for something to eat. He supposed it had been her trusting nature that had convinced her to accept Leon’s offer.

As Leon stripped the rest of his soggy clothes off, he mused darkly about the source of his terrible mood. He stalked into the bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping in without bothering to let it warm up; he couldn’t possibly any colder than he already was.

Money! It was the reason he was wet, the reason he was worrying and the reason he couldn’t afford to start thinking about anything else right now, least of all his troublesome past. He needed to find a way to stop the bank taking his home.  
Leon had sold nearly everything that he owned, his bike included, months ago. Still, it hadn’t been enough. Losing his job as a mechanic had tossed a metaphorical spanner in the works nearly three months ago, and he was finding it incredibly difficult to keep his head above water. After all, it wasn’t just his head that needed to be kept afloat. Yuffie depended on him. He had promised her, he would take care of her.

Just as the shower began to warm up, the steam beginning to mist up the tiles, the showerhead spluttered and gave a little shake, before the steady stream of steaming water fizzled and turned tepid and then freezing. Leon stood under the spray, knowing full well that he hadn’t paid his heating bill in over two months. This was going to happen sooner or later.

He rested his head against the freezing tiles in defeat, letting the ice water run down his back. His shoulders slumping as he recalled his meeting with the bank earlier in the day.

Over and above everything else that had happened to Leon in his life this felt like the worst; his biggest failure, his inability to care for himself or for anyone else. What was Yuffie going to think?

Leon climbed out of the shower dejectedly, wrapping a towel round his waist and stared at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. His image shivered and wobbled with the steam from the shower distorting the glass but he could still plainly see the scar that cut across his nose, cleaving his face into two; a memento from the past… his foster father.

For years he had looked at his face in the exact same mirror, successfully keeping his memories at bay, refusing to remember his life before Radiant Garden. But now, after just a few short minutes with a spectre from his childhood, those memories and images came flooding back, thickly and without order. They crowded his mind, clamouring and baying, the noise they made making Leon’s shoulders clench and snap under the weight of them. He bent forward, resting his ruined, scarred forehead against the cool glass hoping the contact would stop the swirl of sickening images.

It didn’t.

His reflection was only broken by the slam of the front door and Yuffie’s loud cheerful greeting as she whipped through their apartment.

“Leon?!” she called, tearing down the hallway to her own bedroom; she was stopped dead in her tracks as Leon stepped out of the bathroom.

“Hey there you are, any luck with the job search today?” she asked, bouncing up to give the taller man a brief hug.  
“No, not today.” Was Leon’s soft reply. He tentatively returned her affectionate gesture, cautiously putting his arms around her waist to hug her back before awkwardly stepping back. Yuffie had no idea how lucky she was in that respect, Leon thought. He would never have allowed the contact had it been anyone else, but he saw a lot of his own plight in Yuffie. She was his second chance. Leon’s own start in life had been abysmal. The very least he could do was make sure Yuffie’s was half decent. 

Because of Leon and his offer of a home, Yuffie had been able to finish school. She had a job, she had friends, and she had a life. Leon had to allow himself a small smile at that knowledge. However, Yuffie’s success was based solely on Leon’s ability to provide her a home, and in that task he was failing miserably. Yuffie’s wages helped, but ultimately, Leon was going to lose his home; their home, very soon if he didn’t come up with the money within twenty one days. How could he tell Yuffie that?  
“Don’t worry Leon, you’ll find one soon.” Came Yuffie usual reply as she bounded off into her own room, leaving Leon to worry silently in the hallway.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cid’s Chevrolet rolled up the weed strewn driveway, grumbling like an old man as the engine shuddered and cut out. The hinge on the door cracked and gave a loud pop as Cid climbed out, wrappers and half eaten junk food falling out onto the cracked concrete. He slammed the rusted car door loudly, stretching and scratching at himself as he walked up his porch steps. He flipped the busted mesh door aside and coughed a loud hacking cough as he fumbled in his worn jeans for his keys.  
The day had been warm; they always were in Twilight Town and even though his neighborhood was one of the shittiest, rundown most deprived areas around, the warmth almost made him feel like he was somewhere nice. Almost.

The old man spat out the cigar he had been working on all day, the tattered, soggy butt landing in the pathetic patch of grass that passed for a front garden, and he looked across at the house next door. It had been empty for years. Just over eight of them.

Cid didn’t know whether it had been a sad day when Paddy Conlon had died. He supposed it must have been, for someone, somewhere. Not here though, and not for him. It hadn’t been easy living next to them, hearing what he heard and seeing what he had seen. Cid felt what he assumed to be something close to guilt. Maybe he should have done something? If he could have gone back, would he? He supposed not. He had been a drunk too. Just as useless and pathetic as his friend. None of it was his fault, he told himself. None of it was his responsibility. 

He shoved open the rickety door with his shoulder, grunting with the effort on his weary worn out body. Slamming the door behind him he looked up to see a young man stood in the kitchen doorway, bright, intense mako eyes glaring at him. “I’m back.” Cid stated his voice gravelly and thick.

Cloud merely stared back in silence.

Cid pointedly ignored the awkwardness and threw his keys into the bowl on the sideboard before flinging his coat onto the bannister and making his way into the tatty living room, his feet crunching on old pizza boxes and drinks cans. He sat himself in his well-worn chair, facing the TV. Flipping it on he pulled out another cigar and started to chew on it. He didn’t bother lighting it just yet.

“Where did you go?” Cloud asked from his position in the door way, his arms folded defensively in front of him. Cid turned to regard his house guest, eyebrows low in annoyance.

“What’s it to you?” He asked, turning back to his TV programme. “Though you didn’t wanna talk bout anything ‘cept training?”  
The old man turned the volume up, flipping through the stations until he came across the sports channel. He settled further into his chair, finally pulling out a box of matches.

“So you’re agreeing?” Cloud asked him, pushing off the door frame. “You’ll do it?”

There was a long stretch of silence from Cid with nothing but the blare from the TV. Cloud had almost given up on him answering.

“We use the old routine. No short cuts, no slacking.” He finally replied, striking a match against the side of the box. “You get up when I say you get up, you start when I say you start and you don’t stop till I god damn tell you to stop. You get me?” Cid took a large drag of his smoke, pulling the flame from the match and making the end glow red, his eyes never leaving the fight on the screen.

Cloud nodded, not caring if Cid saw or not. He turned to leave, stopped only by the harsh growl of the old man in his chair.  
“And one more thing…” Cid turned to regard the young man, scanning eyes over broad shoulders. “No more of them god damned pills. I know what you’ve been taking, don’t give me that shit.” He warned as he saw Cloud was about to open his mouth to deny it. “I can hear you rattling from a fucking mile away, now if we’re going to do this you give them here right now. No bullshit Cloud.” Cid tapped the arm of his chair, stretching the silence out expectantly. 

After a few more moments Cloud gave in, reaching into the deep pockets of his hoodie and throwing the bottle of pills at the old man. Cid caught it, setting them down on the small table beside his chair. “And the other one.” He said darkly.

Cloud glowered angrily at him, fists clenching at his sides. Eventually, Cloud reached into his other pocket and pulled out a second bottle, throwing it the same way. Cid caught it, setting it down next to the other bottle. 

“We start at 5am. Make sure you’re ready.”

Cloud said nothing as he turned and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Cid to watch his telly in peace.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The young SOLDIER slammed the backdoor heavily behind him, his breath coming from him in angry puffs and pants as he fought to regain his temper. It was a good thing Cid had taken his pills, Cloud knew. Those things weren’t good for him. Still, this was going to make things harder.

Cloud ran a shaky hand through his soft blond spikes, turning about in the small, weed strewn yard he tried to calm himself. His eyes landed on the house that stood next door. It’s boarded up windows black and dismal in the twilight of the night. Most had been smashed and broken, the back door had been torn off its hinges by squatters ages ago and the flimsy fence separating his childhood garden from Cid’s was full of holes and missing slats. Cloud chose the one closest to him and stepped through.

He was immediately transported back, a whole life time ago as he gazed up at the building that didn’t look quite as tall and imposing as it had done all those years ago. He looked about himself at the strewn rubbish in the garden, the broken crumbling porch and the red dust brickwork, cracked and weathered and falling to pieces bit by bit. 

Unbidden, like ghosts from a damn children’s cartoon, he saw an image of himself stood outside not too far from where he was planted now. It was raining and his hair was plastered to his face. His fists were wrapped up tightly and he remembered the feel of bandages around his knuckles as he flexed his fists, bringing them up to his face to protect himself as a fist came flying towards him. 

He remembered ducking and weaving, his chest tight with the effort of doing this same exercise for two hours straight as his foster father yelled at him again and again.

"Again, Cloud. Move your feet you fucking useless piece of shit."

The sound of that voice would stay with him. Cloud knew; there was no running from that. He had tried after all.  
And through the driving rain and the pain of over exhaustion he remembered a face; a face just as tired and pale and twisted in anger as his own. 

He remembered Squall, his fists raised to defend himself as Cloud pushed back, giving as good as he got if not better. Cloud always had been the better fighter despite being three years younger. He always had been the favourite, if Paddy Conlon had ever had a favourite.

He remembered the look on his older siblings face when he had finally given up, his bandaged hands flying up in surrender as Cloud had pushed him down into the sopping ground and beaten the shit out of him to the urgent shouts of his laughing drunken father. 

Cloud hated remembering that face. He hated that memory and he hated his foster father. He hated that he had been made to fight his brother, the only person who had been with him through everything. He hated that he had been so good at it. Cloud hated a lot.

He moved towards the house, being careful not to step in anything he made his way inside, memories like a swarm of locusts, descending on him. It had been so long and yet still the pain of this house seemed so fresh. 

Cloud made it as far as the kitchen before the storm of memories became too much. He turned sharply on his heel, crashing out of the backdoor and into the yard. A discarded fridge-freezer lay in the dirt, half covered in an old molding carpet and as Cloud passed he kicked it. He didn’t stop kicking it until he was out of breath, his legs like jelly from the effort and the tears in his eyes were spent.

Not for the first time, he wondered if coming back to his childhood home had been a good idea. But like everything, that thought passed and he remembered why he was there.  
Cloud became calm again. He had made a promise, and he would never ever break it.

-Tbc-


	2. Fighter

A/N: Chapter two for you. I want to get these early chapters out quite quick, as they contain a lot of information that set the rest of the story up. If you’re eager for some Cloud/Leon interaction quick sharp, then this fic is not for you. Try reading one of my other fics. (Wink)  
Cloud and Leon won’t meet for a while yet and there’s still a lot of angst to come, so bear with me folks.

I hope this entertains.

Happy reading. xxx

 

Fighter

The powerful uppercut caught Leon by surprise as he turned his whole body to avoid a crack in the ribs. It rattled his teeth in his skull and white hot blinding light flashed behind his closed eyes as he stumbled back; the breath knocked from him for a moment or two. He shook himself, quick to recover just in time as the anticipated second swing came at him. He ducked, ramming his shoulder into his opponent and charged them both back across the make-shift ring, their bodies crashing into the metal link fence that surrounded their fighting pit. The roar of the half decent crowd was only just discernible above the pounding of blood in his ears as Leon hopped back, quick to dodge out of his opponents range and scanned about for his weapon. He saw it discarded not too far away and he made a break for it, falling into a roll and springing back up before his challenger regained his bearings. 

Leon had meant to go straight home. He really had. It wasn’t like he wasn’t tired from another day of trawling Radiant Garden looking for a job – any job that would take him. But the smell of cheap liquor, gasoline and cigarettes had brought him to a parking lot at the back of a run-down clichéd to death bar, where as he had expected, he found a shabby if not adequate fighting ring and thirty people waiting to see a match. Leon told himself it had been the money that had lured him back. It wasn’t the taste of battle in his mouth or the smell of blood in his nose. It wasn’t even the roar of adrenaline that made him feel like he could destroy anything. It was the money. At least, that’s what he told himself as he ducked low, swinging his right foot out to trip his rival, sending the heavier man sprawling onto his back, hands and feet splayed out like an up-ended turtle. Leon brought his Gunblade in a swinging arc down to rest lightly against the man’s neck, the tip of his obscure weapon just grazing the man’s Adams apple.

“Third bout goes to, Leon!” The announcer squawked into his megaphone; his tinny voice only just about being heard over the cheers of the crowd which had swelled to a hundred rowdy, baying, drunken amateur fight enthusiasts. Rackets like the one Leon was currently cleaning up on were illegal. However, that didn’t mean they didn’t happen. 

Leon raised his Gunblade, taking a few wobbly steps backwards as the urgent pounding of his blood began to ease off, his breaths slowing from gulping gasps to heavy pants. He raised a hand and wiped the sweat from his face, wincing as he caught a cut that he hadn’t even noticed. He bought his hand away to see blood. 

He stepped out of the ring to a chorus of cheers, the announcer shoving his way over to take Leon’s free hand, swinging it above their heads in victory. The crowd cheered louder, and Leon couldn’t help the thrill that ran through him. He holstered his Gunblade and cut through the crowd heading for the trailer at the back of the parking lot. He picked up his belongings, running a towel briefly over his sweaty face.

“Here, you definitely earned this. “ The announcer said as he handed him a roll of cash. Leon took it, eager to get home. He nodded his thanks to the burly guy as he shrugged his jacket on, wincing again at sore ribs and an aching shoulder that had been wrenched a little too hard.

“Come back any time. You made me a lot of money. You’re a real underdog.” The man said, clapping Leon on the back and chuckling at the hissed breath that the younger man tried to supress. 

Leon pressed his lips together in a tight line, biting back on the pain of his injuries and the pain of hearing that name again after so long. His father had always called him that; an underdog, second best. He had always been second best. 

“Thanks.” Was Leon’s curt reply as he turned on his heel and left.

It was well after midnight when Leon finally made it home, limping through the doorway of his apartment as quietly as he could. His stealth however was pointless. As soon as he shut the door, the hallway light flicked on, making him flinch and squint as he turned to see a very angry Yuffie patiently waiting, tapping her foot against the wooden floor boards, arms folded tightly across her chest. 

“And where have you’ve been?” Her tone was level and dangerous. 

Leon sucked in a deep breath before summoning the energy to turn fully and face his friend. 

“I can explain.” He offered as he saw her face drop at the sight of him. He stepped forward, unable to catch the wince that flickered on his face or the sharp intake of breath as he felt his bruised and aching ribs crunch together.

“What the fuck happened, Leon?” Yuffie demanded. Her arms unfolding and her defensive stance softening as she took a few steps towards her house mate, her hands held out in supplication. She took his bag and his jacket from him, helping him to limp across to their couch, she watched with wide frightened eyes as her pale and shaking friend sat down, his face obviously creased in pain.

“Leon, things are getting ridiculous around here.” Yuffie said as she batted Leon’s hands away and untied his boots for him. She pulled them off carefully, setting them down by the side of the couch. “I came home today to find you gone, no note. I can’t phone you because our phone’s been cut off and I get in the bathroom to find there’s no hot water.” She was scolding him, Leon knew, but her voice was so full of concern and worry it hardly felt like it.

“And worst of all I’ve been sat up half the night worrying about you. I didn’t know if you’d be coming back or not.” At this Leon looked up through his tangled, matted bangs with large sorrowful eyes, his face a picture of guilt. 

“I’m so sorry Yuffie.” He said softly his eyes cutting away in shame.

Yuffie sat back on her heels and regarded her friend who was her hero. He had saved her from a dangerous and uncertain future. She had been a kid, scared and alone and he had taken her in, no questions asked. There wasn’t a thing that Leon couldn’t do in her eyes.

“What’s going on Leon? Are we in bigger trouble than you’ve been telling me?” She asked gently, reaching up to take one of Leon’s hands, running her thumb over his torn and bleeding knuckles.

Long moments of silence passed before Leon sighed heavily, his head hanging lower in shame.

“The bank is going to take our house.” He confessed in a quiet shaking voice. “If I can’t come up with the money before the end of the month.”

Leon had expected shock and anger from his friend. Why not? He had let her down after all. She had every right to be angry at him. He had failed her in every way after promising he would take care of her. Instead he was startled when the young woman merely sat down next to him and wrapped her arms around his bowed and huddled form. He held his head in his hands, his dirt smudged fingers rubbing back and forth across his pursed forehead in agitation as the enormity of admitting his failure hit him. 

Yuffie pulled his hands away and instead brought his head to rest against her as she kissed the top of it.

“Oh Leon, why didn’t you tell me?” She scolded softly and without heat. “Is this why you sold the TV?” she asked looking across at the empty, dusty spot in the corner where it used to be. “And your bike?” she added as he nodded his head weakly. 

“You stupid fool. “ She chastised him; her voice holding no edge to it as she swept the hair from his face. “You should have told me.”

“I’m sorry.” He said simply. 

There were longer moments of silence as the two friends sat together, brooding and worrying. Eventually, Leon remembered the roll of notes in his pocket and reached stiffly to grab them. He held them up for Yuffie to see.

“This is where I’ve been tonight.” He said; pulling away as Yuffie took the money from him.

“Where did you get this?” Even as she said it Yuffie knew. “You’ve been fighting, haven’t you?” She asked, looking from the roll of money to her beaten up friend. There were a few moments of tense silence before Leon nodded his head firmly. 

Yuffie stood abruptly, hands flying to her hips. “Leon! You said you would never do that again.” 

Leon’s head was beginning to pound, and not just from the beating he had taken. He winced under the strain of Yuffie’s voice, her tone making him regret ever opening his mouth.

“I wouldn’t be doing this if we didn’t need the money, Yuffie!” He replied, his voice sounding tired and strained even to him. 

“After what your father did to you?” Yuffie asked; her voice quieter and softer now. “You’d put yourself back in that horrible place after what he did to you?”

There were the tiniest hints of a flinch on Leon’s face as Yuffie spoke. Mentions of his father always had the same effect on him. His insides quivered and clenched. Fear was a hard thing to beat, no matter how old you were or how far away you ran.

“We need the money.” Was all he could supply. And Yuffie couldn’t argue with him. Not really. 

“But this, Leon?” she asked, holding up the money, gesturing to his bruised and battered body. Her argument was pointless, but she was going to make it any way. She felt someone should. She couldn’t let her friend do this without the customary warning and pleading to be careful. She owed him that much.

“What if you get hurt, or worse, killed?” she asked, flopping down next to him again. “What will I do if I lose you?” 

“You won’t lose me Yuffie.” Leon replied, reaching round to hug the smaller woman to him as she nestled into his side. “This could see us through until I find a job.” He told her, rubbing her arm affectionately.

Yuffie knew he was right and didn’t really want to argue with him anymore. She let silence fill the apartment for a while before sighing deeply.

“I just wish you would have told me is all.” She said dejectedly, upset that her friend had been suffering for so long. 

“I know. I’m sorry.” Leon replied; hugging her closer and returning her kiss to the top of her head. 

~&~

It was raining, dull and dismal in Twilight Town and Cloud was stood outside the gym, softly chewing on a toothpick. His hood was pulled down low and his eyes were fixed on the doors of 7th Heaven.  
The town’s local gym stood at the far end of Twilight’s one high street, the neon lights above the revolving doors blinking and fuzzing in the soft drizzle, that made everything seem soft and hazy round the edges. Tiny drops of precipitation hung to the tips of Cloud’s bangs that poked out from his hood and dripped from the tip of his nose. Moisture beads balanced on the fine hairs of his eyelashes and eyebrows and the seeping, heavy heat of the muggy afternoon seemed to sap the energy from everything. 

Decision made, Cloud walked across the street and into the gym.

As he entered he saw the till counter ahead of him which was decorated in posters and a woman stood behind the desk, clicking her way around a computer. She looked up as the door swung back with a bang.

“Hey, welcome to 7th Heaven.” Her smile was wide and infectious.

Cloud replied with a nod of his head, placing his hands on the counter. “I’d like to join.” He said directly, his voice low and even.

“Great! Let me get the forms.” The girl replied; ducking under the counter. “My name’s Tifa.” She added, returning with papers. 

Cloud took the forms without a word, filling in his details as fast as he could. He looked up, glancing briefly around the gym, taking in the fighting ring, punch bags, weights and sparring area. It had everything he needed. 

“You own this place?” He gestured around with the tip of his pencil.

“Uhuh, I inherited it off my dad.” Tifa replied; taking the completed forms, her smile never wavering for a minute.

“Are you entering anyone for CC?” Cloud asked as casually as he could, digging into his pockets for cash.

“Not yet, not found anyone good enough for the Coliseum Championships. Why, you thinking of applying?” she asked, looking him up and down to try and get the measure of him. 

Cloud pierced her with his intense blue eyes, guarded and weary.

“What would I have to do?”

Tifa giggled, making Cloud shift awkwardly from foot to foot. 

“Show me what you can do. I get to pick, so it’s me you’ve got to impress.” She said with a wink as she tilled his money and gave him a brand new member’s card.

Cloud remained distinctly unimpressed. He nodded curtly, once, and marched around the counter disappearing into the equipment. He needed to warm up, and then he needed to show this Tifa exactly what he could do.

It was nearly two hours into Cloud’s warm up when the sparring began. Cloud moved away from his punch bag, bandaged hands flexing the feeling back into them. He picked up a towel, wiping off sweat from his chest and the back of his neck.

He drifted toward the ring, resting his elbows on the bottom rope; leaning forward to watch as two middle weight fighters danced around each other like fairies. Cloud snorted softly to himself, watching the two men grapple with each other like two old ladies cat fighting over a handbag. This was pathetic. If this was all Twilight Town had to offer, no wonder Tifa was having such a hard time finding anyone to sponsor.

When the smaller challenger was tipped, overbalancing on a badly planted back foot and twisted his ankle, Cloud seized his opportunity. 

“I’ll fight you!” Cloud said, raising his hand to draw the larger fighter’s attention. As the other guys dragged the injured man out of the ring, the middle weighter turned to Cloud. He took one glace at him and smirked. Cloud stood at just over 5ft 7, his height or weight neither impressive nor threatening. Cloud knew exactly what the other man was thinking. It was exactly what Cloud wanted him to think.

“Sure, get on up here. What’s your name?” The middle weighter was tall, well over 6ft and stacked with meaty wiry muscle. Cloud hopped into the ring, tossing his towel down into the corner.

“Cloud.” He replied, ignoring the smirk and laugh from the burly, bald headed fighter.

“Cloud?” The man parroted. “Kind of a faggoty name isn’t it?”

Cloud balled his fists, bringing them to his face and crouched into a ready stance, his shoulders loose and flexing as he bounced low. After another sneer, the taller man mirrored him.

As soon as the fight began, it was clear that one of them was in trouble. Cloud charged forward, not bothering to wait to size his opponent up. He’d done that before even stepping foot in the ring. Cloud pounded the taller man, catching him by surprise with his ferocity. Blow after blow rained down on the shocked fighter as he stumbled back under the heavy weight of them. Before he was pushed back into his corner, he managed to break away, twisting round out of Cloud’s reach. He scooted away quickly to catch his breath, raising his hands defensively to cover his face as he saw Cloud coming at him again, never giving him a moment to recover. 

Cloud was a storm of rage and aggression funnelled directly at his challenger. His focus was unbreakable as he continued to swing and pound, dodge and slam his fists into the middle weighter. His fury was so intense he hardly heard the ding of the bell that rang out. It entered his hazy subconscious, the sound of it peeling somewhere on the edges of his red soaked, misted vision.

“Hey, hey, time out!” A pair of hands waved in front of his face.

Cloud blinked; stepping back he turned and stormed over to his corner of the ring. The match was over; his opponent was lying flat on the floor, completely out cold. Without stopping, Cloud climbed out of the ring, picking up his towel as he passed and walked back over to his place by the punch bags. 

Tifa stood watching him, hands on her hips as the gym’s medic ran over to the ring to help revive the unconscious fighter.

Cloud collected his things, pulling his sweater and hoodie on without bothering to shower or at least towel off. He slipped his boots on and turned to leave, a slim but firm hand on his elbow stopping him as he passed the short brunette.

“Come back tomorrow afternoon. I’ll get you a proper challenger.” Tifa said to him, looking up at him with serious eyes, all her flirtation gone. “Bring your weapon and show me what else you can do.”

Cloud nodded his thanks and left without another word.

As Tifa came to stand in front of the ring, assessing the damage her best fighter had taken from the short blond waif that had just walked out of her gym; she snapped her cell phone shut. The video she had taken was incredible. She had never seen a fight like it. A light buzzing in the pit of her stomach excited her. She had that feeling. That feeling that she had just found a very rare, very precious secret. She had found something special. This year at the Coliseum Championships was going to be very interesting indeed.

Little did she know that the video she had taken would be half way around the world in less than two weeks.

-Tbc-


End file.
